Paul Griffith and his lovely wife, Mandy, who come from the north of England, arrived a few months back at the Carpenter's Arms, in Fulbrook, with ambitious plans for its development. They had previously been in charge of the Wellington Arms at Baughurst, close to the Stratfield Saye estate of the duke who gave it its name. Having consulted the Internet to check on the spelling of 'Baughurst', I was intrigued to discover the pub is now owned by someone called Jason King. I wonder if it's that Jason King, with whom in my Zapata moustache days I was once worryingly compared.

Breaking a long-standing rule not to attend opening parties (Mandy sounded so jolly on the phone), I went along to theirs one Sunday lunchtime a month or so back and had a lovely time. Besides meeting lots of jolly locals, Rosemarie and I hit it off hugely with Mandy. We can never resist anyone as occupied as she is in the business of animal rescue. Don't ask her about it - she is sure to tell you.

Clearly subterfuge was not going to be possible when it came to reviewing the Carpenter's food. But we at least booked in under an alias and therefore surprised Mandy with our arrival. This meant that she and Paul had not had opportunity for the complete revamp of the menu or the hiring of totally new staff that our visit might seem to have required. We were going to have things just as they were. And things, as it happened, were extremely good.

The reserved table in a full dining room turned out (halleluiah!), not for the first time lately, to have been exactly the one I would have chosen had Mandy ushered me into an empty room and said: "Take your pick." It was in the bar (so lots of buzz), and next to a wall, commanding roughly the view seen in Damian Halliwell's photograph above.

Behind us on the wall were two blackboards on which the day's menu was displayed, in script so clear that, for once, it could be read by the lady who really needs glasses but is too vain to wear them.

Besides what I am going to be telling you about, the starters included broccoli and Oxford Blue soup, giant crevettes with chilli and lime, Catalan squid with chick peas, chicken liver parfait and home-cured gravadlax. As for main courses, there were such tempting-sounding dishes as slow-cooked pork collar, 10oz Aberdeen Angus rib steak on the bone, battered haddock and fat chips and venison sausages.

Olive decided she was going to dip out of starters, thereby leaving room for pudding (an excellent bread and butter job, with custard and ice cream, was the one she went for). Her daughter did have a starter, however, a lovely steaming bowl of wild mussels in parsley, cream and garlic. What's more, she had a pudding, too, a rich and gooey chocolate tart with a dollop of home-made banana ice cream.

I began with a crispy spring roll, of generous dimension, filled with chunks of rare pinkish tuna, pink ginger, Asian spices and coriander. Further fish followed, with a large chunky wedge of grilled line-caught bass, served on a base of rosti potatoes, with yellow chanterelle mushrooms and a tangy hazelnut pesto.

For Rosemarie, there was a medium-sized Cornish plaice, teamed with a simple but effective sauce with lemon, parsley and capers. Olive chose organic chicken, which came in the form of a large breast and wing portion, filled with herb butter, and served with new potatoes and "truffled green beans". Since these looked and apparently tasted exactly like untruffled green beans, I meant to ask Paul what the truffling was all about. But I'm afraid I forgot.

We drank a Chilean sauvignon blanc (Vina Aranita, 2006), which was light, herbaceous and much enjoyed. In all, a useful addition to the local dining scene.